REMINISCENCES OF THE LEWS. 245 



thinking the post-reins iron, not leather, and 

 towards six or seven in the morning it was 

 positive pain to hold them. For all that, 

 during the whole eighty-eight leagues I got 

 but two falls — one as I pulled up on a lovely- 

 evening to look at the fair town of Alengon, 

 when my horse gently paid his devotions to 

 mother earth (in admiration of the scene also, 

 I suppose), rising quickly again; the other, 

 in passing through a small town, when my 

 horse blundered on to his head from being driven 

 into the gutter by a market cart. Now, I do 

 not think one could have ridden the same dis- 

 tance on English posters with the same result. 



My hands hurt me then a good deal, but 

 that was the only damage I felt ; but I cannot 

 say that about ten o'clock in the morning — the 

 last post we were to ride before breakfast — I 

 did not contemplate with some disgust a very 

 sorry-looking, raw-boned stallion that was 

 brought out to me, with heavy shoulders, 

 groggy legs, and unmistakable knees. I could 

 not help uttering my complaints to a merry- 

 eyed Norman lass that was standing by, and 

 who turned out to be the postmaster's daughter. 

 Whether she pitied the horse or me I don't 

 know, but she told me that if I promised to 

 take great care of him she would lend me " le 



